Elsanna Week
by Dianwei32
Summary: Elsanna Week prompts for 2015 Modern/College AU, first person, Elsa and Anna aren't related.
1. Chapter 1

**Quick A/N: The chapters are in first person. Whose point of view each chapter is from is noted next to the prompt. Enjoy (and sorry it's a million years late).**

 **Day 1: Kissing You (Anna's PoV)**

I feel the soft ghost of pressure as your lips brush against mine. I lean forward, desperate for more, but you're already pulling away. My hand snakes around the back of your neck, keeping you in place. Your hands brace against my shoulders, almost like you want to push me away, but the push never comes. Your hands flex against the fabric of my shirt, then you grab it and use it to pull me even closer. I can barely breathe when you start to kiss me back.

"Anna," you breathe my name between kisses, and it sends a chill racing down my spine. My heart is pounding and my head is spinning. I can barely believe this is happening. It's everything I've ever wanted and more, and I never want it to end…

* * *

The dream fades and I'm left alone in the darkness of my room. I roll over and squeeze my eyes shut, hoping that maybe if I can fall back asleep fast enough, I'll be able to get back into the dream. I keep my breathing deep and even, reliving those last fleeting moments of the dream when you were kissing me back. Unfortunately, replaying the dream in my mind only serves to stoke the embers of the dull heat throbbing between my legs. I squeeze my legs together and ignore it, then press myself more firmly into the bed, as if it will force me back into sleep.

I spend a few silent minutes with my face half-buried in my pillow before a car drives by my house. The light from their headlights passes over my eyelids and squashes any last hope I had of slipping back into the dream. I roll onto my back and stare at the ceiling, as if I can find you hiding amidst the tiny lumps and crevices across it. I pull the pillow over my face and groan while my thoughts once again circle around you. It's like you're this whirling maelstrom, and I'm a ship that's just stuck in your irresistible pull. You're all I've wanted for the past few months. I'm pretty sure that I fell for you the instant I saw you. Heck, if I hadn't already known I was gay the first time I saw you, I'm pretty sure you would have turned me.

I throw the covers off of myself with a huff, then get out of bed and head for the kitchen. I hope that moving around and getting a drink will distract me enough to derail my train of thought before it picks up any more steam. In the back of my mind, I know that it won't, but I try anyway because this can't be healthy. I'm borderline obsessed with you at this point. No, not even borderline. I am one hundred percent obsessed with you. Not that anyone could blame me. I mean, have you looked in a mirror? You're so beautiful that I can't even find words for it. You're crazy smart. For fuck's sake, you're even funny. It's like you're some divine gift, painstakingly crafted by God himself to be the absolute perfect woman.

Not that it matters since I can barely talk to you. It's not for lack of trying, of course, I just become a clumsy, blushing mess around you because 'holy shit I'm talking to _Elsa!_ ' But still, you humor me and seem genuinely interested when I make cliche small talk about some stupid topic like the weather or sports, since the only other thing I could talk about is how much I want to kiss you. I grab a bottle of water from the fridge and head back to my room. I glance at the clock as I flop down in bed and see that it's almost five o'clock. I can't help but smile a bit; only a few more hours until I get to see you.

* * *

"Anna?"

I nearly sigh at the sound of your voice saying my name, but I bite it back at the last moment when I realize you're looking at me. Instead, I flounder for a few second and sound like I'm managing to choke on thin air. Once I regain what shreds of composure I can muster around you, I meet your gaze. Your mouth is curved up into a soft, bemused smile, but there's an expectant look in your eyes. You're clearly waiting on an answer to a question I didn't hear because I spaced out just staring at you and trying to count the faint freckles that dust your face. I try to play it off and get you to ask your question again, but all that comes out is, "Huh?"

Your smile grows a little and I feel my face heating up. "I asked if you wanted to get together later and study for tomorrow's test."

" _Test?_ " I repeat, an edge of panic creeping into my voice. I sit up straight and my eyes fly to the front of the room. Sure enough, there's Professor Weselton, droning on about the Concert of Europe in the days before World War I. On the whiteboard behind him, big red letters spell out, 'Test tomorrow. Ch. 1-20' A pit of terror forms in my stomach. I don't even remember the last time I opened our European History textbook, but I know I never made it past chapter one without falling asleep.

"Yes," you reply, the word catching the tail of a giggle you were having at my expense. "So, do you want to study together later?" you ask again.

My first thought is wondering about why you would even need to study; you seem to get perfect grades just by showing up. Luckily, I've got enough sense not to actually say that out loud… this time. "Uh, sure," I say. I turn back to you, but I'm caught a bit off guard by your enthusiastic grin. You look like a child whose parent just said you could get a puppy. The urge to just lean over and kiss you flares up as strong as it ever has, but I resist it, barely. It takes me a second to recover and form a coherent thought. "Do you, uh, wanna meet at the library? Or maybe somewhere for coffee?"

Your smile fades, and your eyes dart around for a few seconds like you're thinking about what you want to say next. It's an odd sight; I've never seen you not have the perfect reply. "I was thinking it might be nice to do something a little… cozier," you say. You finally meet my gaze again, but there's something in your eyes that I can't quite place. The sparkle that was there when I agreed to study with you is gone, replaced with… worry? Fear? "Would you want to come over and study at my place, or I could come over to yours?" My surprise must show on my face because you quickly backtrack and say, "N-nevermind. The library's good."

"No, no. My place is good," I reply quickly, "It's just, I didn't think… never mind." I scramble for a few seconds, still trying to wrap my head around the idea that you're going to be coming to my house. I grab my phone and pull up your name from my contacts. Suddenly, I'm thankful that I never saved those heart emojis I put around your name one night when I was drunk. "I'll text you my address, but… can you give me a bit before you come over? My place is a bit of a mess."

"Sure," you say, smiling again. At the front of the class, Professor Weselton is wrapping up his lecture and dismissing the class for the day. You gather your things and stand up. Before walking away, you give me one last look. "I'll see you later, Anna. Text me when you want me to come over," you say, then turn and walk away before I can form a coherent reply.

* * *

I've been pacing back and forth in the confines of my living room for the last ten minutes. I pull my phone out and stare at the text message from you for the dozenth time.

 _Okay. I should be there in about 15 minutes._

My eyes dart down to the time stamp on the message. Thirty minutes ago. I toss my phone onto the couch and start pacing again. Where are you? I try and tell myself that you just hit traffic or something, but I can't help but worry that it's worse. Images of you laying in the street, covered in blood after a horrific car wreck keep playing through my mind. I'm tempted to call you, but I'm afraid of what it might mean if you don't answer. Would it just be because you're driving and don't want to be distracted, or something worse? A knock at the door pulls me from my spiraling thoughts, and I stumble over my own feet in my haste to reach the door. I yank it open to reveal you standing on the other side, and I let out a breath I didn't realize I was holding.

"Hi," you say, smiling sheepishly. "Sorry I'm late. There was an accident on the highway that took it down to one lane, so it took forever to get past it."

"It's fine," I reply, trying to sound like I wasn't about to have a heart attack worrying about you. I pull the door open wider and step aside to let you in. "Though, I did get started without you."

"I can tell," you shoot back. I follow your gaze to the table where my textbook and notes are both firmly closed. I stutter for a few moments until you giggle and start heading toward the couch. "Would you mind helping me catch up to where you are?"

* * *

We've been studying for a little over an hour, with our only break being to make a quick snack. You sit on the couch with the bowl of popcorn in your lap. After a quick overview of the material, you've started quizzing me on various areas to figure out what I need to work on. Of course, _you_ don't need to review anything. You know this stuff like the back your own hand, and it makes me wonder once again just _why_ you wanted to study together. "Okay," you say, "and who was Germany's representative on the Council of Europe?"

"Um…" I tap my pencil against my notebook. "Kaiser Wilhelm the second." I feel a piece of popcorn bounce against my head, your signal that I got it wrong. "No, wait, it was… Otto von Bismarck." Another piece of popcorn hits my head, and I whirl around to stare at you. "Hey! It totally was Bismarck!"

"I know," you quip, "I just like throwing popcorn at you." I playfully glare at you, and you respond by tossing another kernel at me.

"That's it," I growl, slamming my pencil on the table. I clamber up onto the couch and grab a handful of popcorn, then toss it directly into your face. You shriek, but it quickly morphs into a giggle as you grab ammunition to return fire. A small scale popcorn war breaks out on the couch, though you have the obvious advantage since you're holding the bowl. After a few minutes, we reach a truce and settle back on the couch, leaning against one another. I turn to ask you a question, but it's immediately forgotten under the intensity of the gaze you're giving me. Several emotions flash across your face, but I can't pin down what they are before they disappear. One overrides them all, though. It's… Care? Adoration? Just like the other's, I can't quite pin down what emotion it is. I'd call it Love, but there's no way...

Your lips are pressing against mine, but I never saw you lean over. The few inches that separated us are suddenly gone. My body stiffens to keep from flailing around, and my mind screeches to a halt. It feels like someone stuck a nine volt battery to my mouth; heat and electricity dance across my lips where yours meet them. As quickly as it started, it's over. You jerk away, scrambling across the couch until you're about to fall over the far arm rest. My mind is reeling, playing the last few seconds (minutes? hours?) over on a loop, trying to sear the indescribable feeling into my memory.

"Oh my god," you whisper, eyes wide, "Anna, I'm so… I didn't…" You bring a hand up to cover your mouth. You're trembling. I can see you shaking, and a tiny part of my brain tells me that I need to say something. I need to let you know that the kiss wasn't a mistake. It was amazing. It was something that I've wanted to do for months now. But my mind is still hopelessly derailed, and I can only sit there mutely. Tears form in the corners of your eyes before you leap off of the couch and run for the door.

You running away finally jolts me from my stupor, and I jump off of the couch to chase after you. "Elsa, wait!" I call after you. I stumble across my living room, then grunt as my shoulder rams into the door frame. "Elsa!" It's useless; you're already out the door. I barrel out of the door and turn down the hall, chasing after you. I round a corner and see you through a space in the wall. Somehow you're already out of the building and heading for your car. There's a railing across the space in the wall, but it's not that tall. I sprint down the hall and leap over it. Unfortunately, I jump a little too late, and the toe of my shoe catches the railing. I start to pitch forward and let out a brief shriek before crashing face first into the grass.

" _Anna!_ "

You're by my side in an instant, kneeling over me and searching for my gaze. "Are you okay?" you ask quickly. "I'm so sorry. This is all my fault. If I hadn't… If I'd just… I can't believe—" I roll over onto my back, and your hands are immediately on my face looking for injuries. I summon what little strength I can muster after my impromptu hurdling failure and push myself up onto a forearm. I bring my free hand around the back of your head and pull your head down a bit until our lips meet. It's a weird angle and my entire body hurts, but it's amazing nonetheless. I feel you tense up a bit like you're about to pull away, but you don't. After a moment of hesitation, you start kissing me back. I've dreamt of this moment for months now, and every single dream has utterly failed to capture the reality of it. Your lips are cool and soft against mine, and I could spend an eternity just kissing you.

After a minute or two, you try to pull away again. My hand slides from your neck and I lay back down in the grass. You're gazing down at me with a look of pure love and adoration, and your eyes sparkle. I glance off to the side for an instant, then meekly ask, "So, um, you're not still leaving, are you?" You laugh and lean back down to kiss me again.

Yeah, I could get used to this.


	2. Chapter 2

**Day 2: Date Night (Anna's PoV)**

"You're joking, right?" I ask flatly, leaning against the side of the car. The grin on your face shrinks, and I immediately regret it. Of course you aren't joking. I've never been able to put a finger on your sense of humor. One minute you're drier than burnt toast, the next you're making some horrible pun that leaves me in tears. I glance up at the sign over the door. It reads, 'Paint and Pour.' It's some new thing where you drink wine while you paint stuff. It makes no sense to me, but apparently lots of people like it. I mull the idea over for a moment then push myself off of the car. "Okay, let's do it," I say, trying to inject some cheer into my voice.

"N-no, it's fine," you reply, "We don't have to." You try to walk past me back to the car, but I catch you with an arm and pull you to me. I have to lift your head with a finger to meet your gaze.

"Come on, let's go inside," I say, smiling, "It'll be fun." I dart in for a quick kiss, then lace my fingers through yours. You smile a little, but not as much as when you got out of the car. I pull you toward the door, push my way inside, and look around. It's exactly what I expected; a bunch of middle-aged soccer moms huddled together and doing way more work on the wine bottle than the painting. "So, what do we do now?" I ask.

As if she heard me, a lady helping the soccer moms waves over to us and calls, "Be with you in a second." She turns and talks to the group for a few seconds, then makes her way over to us. "Hi. Welcome to Paint and Pour. Would you like to do canvas or plaster today?"

"Uhh…" I drone for a moment. I'm completely lost here. I glance over at you for help, but you're not even paying attention. You're looking around the room like a kid in a candy store. Your eyes sparkle and your face is split by a huge grin. I notice that you're focusing on the blank plaster pieces. "I think we're going to do plaster," I finally reply. I have to make a conscious effort to tear my gaze away from you and face the woman trying to help us.

"Excellent," she chirps with a smile almost as big as yours. She motions to the section of plaster figurines that you've been eyeing. "Just pick out what you'd like to paint, take a seat anywhere you like, and I'll be by in a minute to help you with paints." She doesn't even wait for a response before she spins back around and makes her way back to the group she was helping. I turn to face you, but just watch you for a bit while your eyes dance over the plaster figurines lining the wall. After a minute, I nudge your shoulder to get your attention. You look at me in surprise, like you'd forgotten I was there with you at all.

"So, what do you want to paint?" I ask. Your eyes dart back over to the wall and you bite lip. It's a dead giveaway that you know _exactly_ what you want to pain, but you don't want to say for… whatever reason. "Come on," I say, rolling my eyes. I grab your hand and pull you over to the wall. I start looking for something to paint, but most of it is either some cartoony little animal for kids or a boring plate or bowl. While I'm scanning the shelves, I see what you want to paint. It's a simple six-pointed snowflake, affixed to a base at one of the points. I grab one and hold it up, asking, "This one?" You nod and blush. It's painfully adorable. You've loved everything about winter, snow, and the cold ever since I met you. I hand it to you, then lean in and kiss you on the cheek. "You're a dork," I chuckle.

You mutter something unintelligible, then walk away to sit at an empty table. I go back to looking at the wall, looking for something that looks interesting. A few spots down from the snowflakes, there's a similar looking sun. I grab it and head over to the table. When I sit down, you're intently staring at the snowflake, the remnants of your blush still coloring your cheeks. You finally tear your gaze away from the snowflake and smile at me. "Thanks for agreeing to do this," you say. "I know it's not really your kind of thing, but I think it'll be fun."

Before I can respond, the lady from earlier is back. "Excellent choices," she says. She lays a square piece of fired plaster on the table. It's covered with rows of colored dots, each with a number underneath it. "These are our paint colors," she explains, "You can choose up to four to use on your pieces today." We both scribble some numbers onto pieces of scrap paper, then hand them to her. "Great," she chirps, smiling. "Now, as far as our wine choices go—"

"Oh, um..." You hesitate for a second, then reach down into your purse. "We've actually got that covered," You say, putting a bottle of light pink wine on the table. You look up at her like a child who got caught stealing cookies. "Is that okay?"

"That's perfect," she says, smiling. "I'll be right back with your paints." She walks away again, then returns a few moments later with the paint, pair of glasses, and a corkscrew. "I'll let you get to it, then. Don't hesitate to flag me down if you have any questions or need any help." She waits for us to nod this time before she walks away.

I peruse the cup full of brushes while you uncork the bottle and pour us some wine. I randomly grab one of the bigger ones and glance at my assortment of paints. I've got several different shades of orange and yellow, but making a sun different colors seems weird. I grab the glass you put next to me and take a sip, trying to decide where to start painting.

"Hey, Els," I turn to ask you something, but you're not paying attention. You're concentrating on your snowflake really intensely, painting it like you're DaVinci working on the Mona Lisa. You're focusing so hard that your tongue is poking out of the side of your mouth, and it's painfully adorable. It should really be illegal to be as cute as you are. "Elsa?" I try to get your attention again, but it's useless. You're lost in your own little world. Instead, I just sit and watch you paint for a minute. After a bit, I get a delightfully wicked idea.

"Els?" I say again, making sure you're sufficiently distracted. I grab the little tray of paints that I'm supposed to be using on my sun. I slowly pick it up and bring it up near your shoulder. I gently grab the end of your braid and dip the tip in one of the orange paints. I can't hold it any longer, and a snort escapes me. Unfortunately, the sound finally draws your attention and you turn to look at me.

"What is it?" you ask, an eyebrow quirked up. I have to bite my lip to keep from laughing. Your gaze drifts down to where I'm holding your braid, and your eyes widen. "Anna!" you hiss, wrenching your hair away from my hand. I finally lose it and burst out laughing. I belatedly press a hand over my mouth to try and muffle the sound, but it's not very effective.

"It's not funny!" you say harshly. "Do you have any idea how hard this will be to wash out?" I can't respond because I can barely breathe, so you just glare at me. While I'm trying to calm down, you flick the end of your braid at me, and a few drops of paint fly off and splatter against my face. I grab a paintbrush and dip it in some yellow paint, ready to retaliate.

The lady from earlier loudly clears her throat to get our attention, looking at us intently. We both settle back into our seats, brushes going back to our respective pieces. We paint silently for a few minutes before you grab your glass of wine. "You started it," you mumble over the rim.

"I did not!" I shoot back, "you did." I hear your snort of disbelief as I dip my brush in the paint again. "You _did_ ," I say again, "It's certainly not _my_ fault that you're unbearably cute." You cough into your wine, and I look over to see your face lit up in a blush. I can't help myself, and I have to lean over and kiss your cheek.

We focus on painting—and the wine—for a while, even if you still look like you're taking it a bit too seriously. I end up painting most of my piece yellow because, well, that's what color the sun is. I glance over at you and I can't help my jaw falling open. Your snowflake looks incredible. You've made intricate patterns swirling over it in three different shades of blue. Even the areas that are still white look like a carefully crafted design.

"Elsa, that's…" My words trail off. I can't find any that feel adequate. I can only stare at your snowflake like a dumbstruck fool. I lean closer, trying to follow one of the flowing blue lines. "How did you even do—whoa!" The wine has me just a bit tipsy, and I lean over far enough that I nearly fall out of my chair. Unfortunately, when I grab the table to steady myself, I drag my brush over the bottom portion of your snowflake. It leaves a fat yellow swath of paint cutting across the beautiful patterns you made. "Oh no!" I gasp, leaning back so far that I nearly fall out of the other side of my chair. "I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to! I just… I was trying to look at it, and…" I force myself to stop rambling and try to read your reaction. Your face is frozen in a look of mild surprise. "Please don't be mad."

You finally look away from the ruined snowflake. You meet my gaze, but your face is emotionless. You don't look angry or upset or furious, just… blank. You're silent for so long that I start to worry, then you reach out and drag your brush over my piece, leaving a light blue streak across the yellow surface. "There," you say, smirking. "Now we're even." I stick my tongue out and you, causing you to flick your paintbrush at me and send a few tiny droplets flying at my face. I shriek and try to wipe them off, but only serve to smear them across my face. You cover your mouth to hide a giggle. It's infuriatingly cute.

"Two can play that game," I mutter, flicking my own brush at you. You gasp in fake shock as the paint splatters across your hand. You quickly pull your hand away and clutch it to your chest.

"You realize this means war," you say in an overly serious tone.

I dip my brush into one of the orange colors on my pallette and respond with a simple, "Bring it." We stare each other down for a few moments, each silently daring the other to make the first move. Your first attack comes like lightning; it's so quick I barely even see it. You lunge forward and draw a fat line of paint down my cheek, then you're gone. By the time I move to try and retaliate you're safely back in your chair and out of range. I can only gape at you for a second before just flicking my brush at you.

Things quickly devolve into us lunging back and forth at each other, trying to get paint on any area of exposed skin that we can. Volleys of red, orange, blue, and white fly back and forth as we steal paints from one another. The chaos makes it hard for me to tell if each new spot of paint adorning my hand or arm was your doing, or if I just managed to mark myself in my astounding clumsiness. Despite the constant erratic movement, it's clear that you're winning. I get the insane idea to fling the entire palette of paints at you, but thankfully I never get the chance.

" _Ladies!_ " The woman from earlier is back, staring at us in disbelief. Her eyes dart a one the various splotches of paint covering us, and she just seems to be at a loss for words. After a moment, she finally says, "If you can't control yourselves, I'm going to have to ask you to leave."

"Sorry," we say in unison. We try to go back to painting, but it's a lost cause. Most of the paint is splattered across the table or us, and what's left is a mixture of colors that looks close to mud. I try and poke my brush into a few dollops of red or orange on the table, but it my brush is too dirty to pick anything up. I look over and see you having the same problem. "I, uh, guess I'm done," I say.

"Me too," you reply, dropping your brush. We take our pieces up to the front to the front to give them to the employee. "We're done," you say, then sheepishly add, "and… sorry about earlier."

She sighs and says, "It's fine." She looks over at the table, already covered in paint from all of the people who were there before us. "The mess isn't a big deal, and at least you were having fun. Here…" She grabs a slip of paper and scribbles on it for a bit. "Your pieces will be ready for pickup next Tuesday afternoon." We take the paper, thank her for her help, and head out the door.

I lace my fingers through yours as we walk back to the car. "I'm glad you suggested that," I say, nudging you. "It was a lot of fun… but, uh, sorry again for messing up your snowflake."

"Don't be," you say, smiling, "I actually kind of like it. " I can only look at you in bewilderment, and you giggle at me. "I do. It's like… having a little piece of you with me." I can't help but burst out laughing, and you playfully slap my arm. "Oh, shut up," you mutter, your cheeks reddening.

I finally manage to suppress my laughter by the time we get to the car. "I'm sorry," I say half-heartedly. "That was just the cheesiest thing I've _ever_ heard." You huff quietly as we make our way to the car. I pull you to a stop before you open the door. "Hey," I say. I have to lift your chin up before you'll meet my gaze. " _But_ … It was also really sweet. Thanks." I lean forward and kiss you, and I can feel the heat of your blush radiating off of your face. You mumble something under your breath, and I place another kiss on your nose. "Now, let's get something to eat. I'm starving." You open your mouth to say something, but I cut you off, saying, "and yes, it can be chocolate." I didn't think it was possible, but your face gets even redder. For a moment, I think I can see steam rising from your cheeks, but your mouth pulls up into a smile nonetheless as you climb into the car.


	3. Chapter 3

**Day 3: Corny Romance (Elsa's PoV.)**

"Where is it?" I grumble as I pull open yet another desk drawer and start digging through it. "How do I lose it… no… _every_ damn time… no… I need it?" I hear the door open and close, then the sound of your shoes on the tile as you come down the hall.

"Hey, Els," you say, "I'm ho—" Your words drop off as you come around the corner and see the study. Random objects are strewn all over the room, and a few drawers have been removed from the desks completely. "Were we robbed?" you ask wryly.

"No," I grouse.

"Are you _sure?_ " you shoot back. I toss an eraser at you, but it sails harmlessly past your head. You chuckle, then ask, "The protractor again?"

"Yes," I huff, slamming the drawer shut and pulling open the last one I haven't searched. "I don't understand," I say as I start to rifle through the pens and note pads in the drawer. "I've got a meticulous organization system. I can find pens, pencils, graph paper, and erasers with my eyes closed… but that damn half-circle of plastic grows legs and walks away the second I put it down."

You chuckle again, and I have to resist the urge to throw something else at you. You make your way into the room and start looking through random items. You start flipping through folders of sketches, and I get ready to tell you that it couldn't possibly be—

"I found it!" You say triumphantly, pulling my lost protractor from one of the folders. You spin it around on a finger for a few seconds, then hand it to me with a flourish.

"Ah, my knight in shining armor," I say flatly. I meet your gaze for a moment, and there's a twinkle in your eye that tells me I'm going to regret having said that. I quickly get up and make my way back out to the dining room, or at least the place in the living room we put the table since the apartment doesn't really have a dining room. Several nearly-finished building sketches are spread across the table, and I toss the protractor in the middle of them before leaning against the wall. "I can only put two of these pieces in my portfolio for the final project," I say, "but I can't decide which two to use." My eyes dart across the pieces; from the ground floor of an apartment building, to the penthouse offices of a skyscraper, then to the carefully crafted lines and angles of a performance theater, and finally to the soaring parapets of a fantastical castle. I fixate on the last one for a bit. It was by far the most fun to design, but also by far the most impractical to actually build. "What do you think?" I ask.

"Verily," you reply in a horrendous old English accent, "all are masterpieces that wouldst make da Vinci himself weep with envy." You look over the pieces for a bit before adding, "this theatre doth seem an exquisite venue for partaking in a showing of Sir William Shakespeare's newest play, my lady." You lean down a bit, examining the castle with a critical eye. "And truly, this castle wouldst be fit for the noblest of Queens… but alas, it doth lack a proper moat that one wouldst fill with alligators."

I bite my tongue to hold back a laugh; it would only encourage you, after all. "I don't think they ever actually filled moats with alligators," I say, grabbing the apartment and skyscraper sketches and putting them back in a folder. "And besides, the acoustics for the theater are designed more for music than speech." I purse my lips and immediately start making tiny alterations to the design in my mind, trying to figure out how to properly reflect the more directional sounds of a play rather than the uniform sounds of an orchestra. Unfortunately, my concentration is shattered when you grab my attention again.

"Art thou growing hungry, my lady?" you ask. "Mayhaps thou wouldst enjoy a leg of mutton and a flagon of mead at the tavern?" You bow and offer your arm for me to take.

I can't stop a giggle from escaping this time, but the radiant grin that blooms across your face it more than worth it. "I already ordered us some pizza before you got back," I say. As if on cue, the doorbell rings. "That's probably it right now."

"Hark!" you cry, "a great wyrm approaches!" You grab a ruler off of the table and brandish it like a sword. "Fear not, my lady. I shall vanquish the beast and bring you its head as a prize." You level the ruler at the entryway leading to the door, then run across the room with a yell of, "For Lady Elsa!" I let a quiet chuckle escape as you hurdle over your discarded backpack. I hear the squeak of the door opening, then you crying out, "Have at thee, foul cretin!"

A deep voice rumbles back, "the treasure is mine, and no one else's! I'll not part with it!"

You giggle and say a quick word of thanks to the delivery boy before closing the door and coming back into the living room. You carry the pizza boxes like you've discovered the Holy Grail, and you actually drop to one knee to present them to me. "A gift from the lair of the dread wyrm, my lady," you say.

I can't stop the tide of laughter that's spilling out of me. I clap a hand over my mouth to try and stem it, but it doesn't help. I realize that this 'knight in shining armor' bit isn't going to end anytime soon, so I decide to join in. "Oh, good Sir Anna, truly the kingdom is indebted to you for your valiant deeds," I say, dipping into a slight curtsey. "Pray tell, is there anything that you would ask of me as a reward?"

You stand up and carefully place the pizza boxes on the table. You take a wary step forward and ask, "Mayhaps I couldst be so bold as to request a kiss from my lady?"

I bring my hand to my chest and gasp in shock. "That would indeed be most bold, Sir Anna," I say. I pretend to contemplate it for a moment, then add, "but I suppose that it would be a just reward for your most valiant deeds." I lean in and give you a gentle kiss on the lips, lingering near you for a few seconds before straightening back up. "Now, let us feast in honor of your most noble victory over the fierce monster."

We head into the kitchen and I grab a couple of plates while you get us some drinks from the fridge. We both grab a couple slices of pizza, then collapse together on the couch. We trade idle tidbits about our days, thankfully without the accents, while we eat. After a second helping, or a third in your case, we settle back on the couch and just spend a few minutes enjoying eachother's company.

Eventually, you break the silence and ask, "So, anything special you wanted to do tonight…" You pause for a few seconds before adding, "my lady?"

I chuckle and roll my eyes. "You're a huge dork," I drone.

"Yeah," you reply, "but I'm _your_ huge dork."

Your words cause a swell of warmth to bloom in my chest, and I can't help but grin like a lovestruck schoolgirl. I lace my fingers through yours. "Yeah," I echo you, pulling your hand up and kissing the back of it. "You are."


	4. Chapter 4

**Day 4: Warm Hugs (Elsa's PoV)**

I sit on a bench in the park, gazing out over the freshly fallen snow. My eyes wander over the pristine beauty; a field covered in a sheet of white so smooth and flat it's almost reflective. There are a few children scattered about who are ruining the picturesque scene with snowmen and snowball fights, but I can hardly begrudge them enjoying a snow day free from responsibility. I glance at the watch and see that you're now ten minutes late from when you said you'd be here after class.

The second hand on my watch ticks past the 12 yet again. Eleven minutes late, but I merely smile. Punctuality has never been your strong suit, so I only arrived a couple of minutes ago myself. I let out a breath and watch the puff of condensation float away. I hear the crunching of snow behind me and lean back, calling back, "It's about time."

I hear your infectious giggle and can't help but grin. You sit down next to me and hold up a pair of white, lidded cups. "At least I come bearing gifts," you reply. You offer me one, and I eagerly accept it. I bring the cup to my lips and take a long drink, reveling in the warmth of the hot chocolate. You giggle again, and I quickly reach out and snatch the other one from your hand. "Hey!" you cry out, "that one's mine!"

"You said you came bearing gift _s_ ," I say, "Plural. So, this one must be mine, too." I take a sip, tasting the hints of cinnamon and vanilla that you love to add to your hot chocolate. When I look back to you, you're giving me the most adorably pathetic puppy dog eyes I've ever seen. I heave a fake sigh of exasperation and hand the drink back to you. You thank me with a quick kiss on the cheek, and I can feel the warmth of your lips linger behind against the cold winter air.

"I don't understand how you're not freezing your butt off," you say before taking a long pull from your recently recovered drink. "It's like ten degrees out and you've got on a track jacket and yoga pants."

"I don't recall you complaining about my pants this morning," I shoot back. Your face turns a deep red, and I have to take my own drink of hot chocolate to hide my smirk. I tug the sides of my track jacket closer; it's not zipped and the wind keeps blowing it open. "Besides," I continue, "It's twenty four degrees out, not ten." You simply roll your eyes, and I scoot over to snuggle into your side. We sit in silence for a time, just watching as animals poke out of their homes to search for food. After a few minutes, I feel your hand start to drift lower down my side. I pretend not to notice even though exactly what you're planning. Like punctuality, subtlety isn't one of your strong suits.

Eventually, your hand dips low enough that you can snake your fingers under my jacket and shirt. You press your hand against my side, trying to make me jump or yelp from how cold your fingers are. They aren't even cold. Your fingers feel warm against my skin compared to the brisk air that's been moving through and under my clothes. I merely let out a small sigh and turn to look at you. "You _know_ that doesn't work on me," I say flatly.

"It may not," you say, your mouth twitching up into a smirk, "but _this_ does." You dig your fingers into my side and I burst out laughing. I try and squirm away, but your arm tightens around me and holds me in place. Your assault lasts for only a few agonizing seconds, but I still manage to spill some of my hot chocolate. When things finally calm down, I lick what hot chocolate I can save off of my hand, then look forlornly down at the spill that's soaking into my lap. "You know," I say, bringing my gaze back up to you, "if you wanted to get me out of my pants, you could have just asked. There's no need to waste perfectly good chocolate."

You chuckle, then say, "But where's the fun in that?" I nudge you with a shoulder, which only makes you grin wider. We settle down on the bench again, and I let my eyes drift closed. I lean into your side and simply enjoy your warmth. While I've never been bothered by the cold, I still enjoy warmth, especially yours. I've never been able to put it into words, but there's something about your warmth that's just… intoxicating. I could spend hours just wrapped in your arms. It's one of your favorite things to tease me about. Even though I'm awake well before you each morning, I stay in bed until you force me to get up because I don't want to leave your wonderful warmth.

After a while, you gently shake me out of the half-dozing state I drifted into while snuggled up to you. "Hey," you whisper, "I've got some school stuff I need to get started on. Do you want to come back to my place or head to yours?"

I sit up and stretch, immediately regretting my decision when it lets the wind sneak under my jacket and steal the remnants of your warmth. I take a long drink from my hot chocolate, then stand up. "Let's go back to my place," I offer. "It's closer."

"By like two blocks!" you counter.

"Three blocks," I say, holding out my hand, "and it will let us bypass the construction on Second Street. Besides… I made brownies after you left this morning."

"Sold!" you cry, grabbing my hand and pulling yourself up. Once you're up, you hold your arm out and I link mine through it. We start the walk back to my apartment in companionable silence, simply taking in the beauty of the (mostly) pristine fields and the rows of icicles hanging from tree branches. The walk doesn't take long, and soon I'm digging my keys out of my pocket to unlock the front door.

The door opens, and you almost push me inside to get to the promised brownies. I toss my keys into a bowl by the door and head for the bedroom to change out of my wet yoga pants. I manage to peel off the wet pair, but before I can put on some new ones, your arms slip around my waist and you press yourself up against me. I can't help but smirk. "I thought you said you had school stuff to do," I say. I catch the scent of brownies when you lean down to kiss my neck.

"It's just Weselton's class," you reply between kisses, "It'll take like fifteen minutes, tops." You slip your hands under my shirt, and I bite my lip to stifle a moan as your fingers trail over my stomach. "Besides, I _did_ want to get you out of those pants."

A shiver runs down my spine when I feel your warm breath wash over my neck. I turn in your embrace so that I can kiss you, then pull you a few steps back so that we can lay down on the bed. You break away from my lips and start weaving a trail down my neck again. Your lips are so hot against my skin that it's as if they're burning me, marking me as yours for the world to see. I grab the blanket with one hand and throw it over us. After all, it's not like we'll be getting up any time soon.


	5. Chapter 5

**Day 5: Romantic Surprises (Anna's PoV.)**

"Shit," I curse as I scramble across the kitchen to the stove. The pot of pasta that I set to cook is boiling way more than I wanted it to, and some of the steam rising out of the bubbling mess is starting to darken into smoke. I grab one of the handles on the side and pull the pot off of the burner. Unfortunately, this causes scalding hot water to splash over the side and onto my hand. "Ow!" I cry, shaking off the burning water. I move to the sink and turn on the cold water, then let it run over my hand. A shrill buzzing cuts the air as the oven timer goes off. I crack the oven door open and peek inside, only to immediately throw it open and curse under my breath.

The door to the apartment creaks open, signaling your arrival. "I'm home," you call from the entryway. There's a pause, then you ask, "Anna, are you _cooking?_ " There's a note of worry in the last word, and based on the current state of the kitchen, it's probably warranted. You come around the corner and stand in the doorway, taking in the mess that is our kitchen right now.

"Umm… happy Anniversary?" I say, holding up the pan from the oven. The two chicken breasts on it are still raw.

You give me a bemused smile that you give any time I do… pretty much anything, really. "Thank you, Anna," you say, walking over and kissing me on the cheek. You look down at the raw chicken. "Though, you _were_ planning on cooking those, right?"

"I thought I did!" I say defensively. "The recipe said to cook them for twenty minutes at two hundred degrees."

" _Two_ hundred?" You repeat, a skeptical eyebrow going up. "Can I see the recipe?" You take my phone from me after I fish it out of my pocket, then scroll through the blog post I got the recipe from. After a few seconds, your skeptical look is replaced with another bemused smile. "Anna, this blog is run by a person in England," you say, turning my phone around to show me the screen. There's a giant United Kingdom flag proudly flying across the top of the page. "The instructions are in metric, not imperial. You were supposed to set the oven to two hundred degrees _Celsius_. That's about four hundred degrees Fahrenheit.

"Oh," I say lamely.

You chuckle and give me a kiss on the cheek. "It was sweet of you to make dinner for me, though," you say. You take a moment to survey the kitchen, then add, "We can salvage this. We'll have to start over on the pasta, but the chicken is fine." You reach over and crank up the dial on the oven, setting it to four hundred. You grab the pot of ruined pasta and dump the water down the drain, then toss the noodles in the trash can. I settle back against the counter, content to watch you whirl around the kitchen like a one woman cooking army. But you stop after grabbing the box of spaghetti noodles and ask, "What's wrong, Anna?"

I jump a bit at your sudden attention. "Nothing," I lie, but you're clearly not buying it. I chew my lip for a second, then say, "I just wanted to make dinner for you for once." I drop my gaze to the floor; that sounded infinitely more pathetic out loud than it did in my head. "You cook such awesome meals all the time, and obviously today is a great example of _why_ I don't cook—" I wave an arm at the discarded pasta pot, which is still giving off a tiny wisp of smoke. "—but I still wanted to do it just to try and give back a little bit of all the amazing things you do for me."

I keep my eyes trained on the floor, but I see your feet move towards me until you're right in front of me. "Hey," you say quietly, but I still can't quite bring myself to meet your gaze. You gently lift my chin with a finger until I look you in the eye. "You do _just_ as many amazing things for me," you say, gentle but firm. "And I meant it when I said it was sweet that you even tried to make dinner. I know how little you like to cook, and the fact that you did it anyway just for me means a lot to me." Your hand moves from my chin to cup my cheek and you press a gentle kiss against my lips.

"Now come on," you say once the kiss breaks, "we can make dinner _together._ " You grab my hand and pull me off of the counter. "Can you get me a new pot for the pasta?" As soon as I grab the pot, you add, "Fill it with water and add a pinch of salt." Once I do that, you've got another task, and another, and another. Before I know it, I'm dredging the chicken breasts and coating them in breadcrumbs while you lean against the counter with a glass of wine.

"I thought you wanted to make dinner _together_ ," I say wryly.

"And I thought that _you_ wanted to make dinner for _me_ ," you shoot back, smirking over the lip of your wine glass. You take a quick sip, then say, "Don't forget to stir the pasta or else it will all stick the bottom of the pot." I quickly finish breading the second chicken breast, wash my hands, and give the pot a quick stir. We make idle small talk while the food finishes cooking. Somehow, I'm able to put together a decent looking meal immediately after nearly burning a pot of water. You attribute it to your expert supervision, and there's not much I can do to argue with that.

Once we're done eating, we clean up the dishes and get ready to move out to the living room, but I remember one last thing. "Wait a sec, Els," I call, causing you to poke your head back into the kitchen. I pull open the refrigerator and remove a plate that I covered with an inverted bowl. "I have one more surprise," I say, hoping that the nerves fluttering in my chest don't come across in my voice. I've secretly been working on this all week, but it was never good enough. I didn't get a chance to test this batch so I'm flying blind. I present the covered plate to you. "I made dessert!" I chirp, trying to sound confident in my efforts. Your expression shifts from confused to slightly curious, but I plow ahead regardless.

"Now, I had to call your Aunt Gerda for this—" Your curious gaze disappears, replaced with one of worry bordering on dread. "—but I wanted to do something _really_ special for you and I just…" I trail off and bite my lip. I don't want to start rambling, so I just pick the bowl up and reveal a dozen small balls of chocolate. "I made the triple chocolate ganache truffles that your mom used to make."

You bring a hand to your mouth, and I can only wait for a reaction. Your parents have always been a… sensitive subject, at best. I never met them, but one of the few things I've learned from our few conversations about them was how much you loved the truffles your mom used to make. Tears well in your eyes, and I nearly throw the bowl and plate down as I rush to your side. "I'm sorry, Elsa!" I cry, wrapping you in a tight hug. "I didn't mean to make you sad! I just wanted to…" I can't find the right words, so I just give up.

You slip your arms around me and shake your head. You take a few slow, deep breaths, then pull back a bit so you can look me in the eye. "You didn't do anything wrong, Anna," you say, quickly wiping at your eyes. "It's so incredibly wonderful that you did this for me. I just…" You pause for a moment, still trying to collect yourself. "It brings back a lot of memories, and I got… overwhelmed." You take one more deep breath, then smile. It's small, but it's genuine and full of warmth. "Thank you," you say gently.

I smile back. Though, I can't help but blush under the look you're giving me. "So, uh, d-do you want try one?" I stutter.

"Of course," you reply. You give me one more squeeze, then let go and step around me to get to the plate. You grab one and inspect it for a few seconds

"I'm sorry that they don't look that great," I say, picking up my own truffle. It's lopsided and there's a spot of the interior truffle is visible through the chocolate ganache shell. "I made like a dozen batches all week, but none of them were good enough."

You take a bite of the truffle and close your eyes. You bring a hand to your mouth again while you slowly chew it. When you open your eyes again, they're shining with tears, but you're smiling again. Your lace your fingers between mine and murmur, "They're perfect."


	6. Chapter 6

**Day 6: Between the Sheets (Elsa's PoV.)**

The sound of my shoes echos against the walls of the stairwell as I trudge up to our apartment. After three final exams over the last five hours, I just want to collapse onto the couch with you and snuggle under a blanket. I dig my keys out if my pocket when I reach our floor, but something makes me pause as soon as I slide the key into the lock.

It's too quiet.

I can almost always hear _something_ from the apartment, either the TV, your music, or most often you singing along to said music. I turn my key and flip the lock, trying not to overthink the silence. Images race through my mind of the various… scenarios I've found on the other side of a silent front door. There was the time I walked in on your huddled over my mother's broken picture frame with a bottle of glue. Or the time I came home to you sitting on a mysterious growling box. Most of the time, though, the silence merely spell doom for our kitchen because you've once again decided to try your hand at cooking. Some small part of me hope that maybe you just headed out for a bit, but we were texting after my exams and you said you were waiting for me at home. Suddenly the 'waiting' takes on a much more ominous context.

Whatever you have planned, I'm not getting anywhere sitting in the hallway and wondering, so I open the door and enter the apartment. "Anna," I call, "I'm home!"

"Welcome home, Els!" you call back, then it's silent again. I walk forward, and each step makes me a little more nervous about what I'll find. No amount of worrying could have prepared me for what I see when I finally round the corner into the living room. You've erected a mass of sheets and blankets in the middle of the living room. The floor lamp and the shower rod have been pressed into service as supports for your… structure, and there are even a couple of ropes and bungee cords helping suspend my favorite blanket over the couch. You poke your head out from between two sheets on the side and you beam at me. "I made a fort!" you chirp happily.

I can only stand frozen in place, unable to form words. Your 'fort'—though that's a fairly generous description—is simultaneously better and worse than what I had feared. On the one hand, nothing is broken or permanently damaged… yet. But on the other hand, having to deconstruct a pillow fort was not what I had in mind as a relaxing evening. One question overrides the others, and I finally ask, "Why?"

"Uh, because it's _awesome_ ," you state as if it were the most obvious thing in the world, then you vanish back into the mass of sheets.

I pinch the bridge of my nose and take a deep breath. "Anna," I say, trying to keep my mounting annoyance out of my voice, "take this mess down. Now."

"I'm sorry," you say, your head appearing from a different spot along the top of a blanket, "but your authority is not recognized inside Fort Kickass."

"Oh my god," I groan, pressing my hands over my eyes. "I'm dating a six year old."

"Hey!" you shout, "I take offense at that. Do you think that a six year old could have engineered _that?_ " You point towards the wall, where both ends of a bungee cord are hooked into one of the air conditioning vents. My favorite blanket is tied to the middle of the cord, helping suspend it. " _Clearly,_ I'm at least eleven."

"Indeed," I say, tossing my purse and keys onto the couch. I head towards the bungee cord setup. "Now, help me take all of this down."

" _Elsa!_ " you whine. You stick your head back out and give me the most pathetic pout you can muster. "Come on," you plead, "play with me." I'm about to let loose a sharp retort when you add, "I've got chocolate." You hold up a bowl, pushing it between the sheets that form the wall of your 'fort'. It's full of large strawberries dipped in dark chocolate, my absolute favorite.

"That's cheating," I say, causing you to grin uncontrollably. You and the strawberries disappear back into the fort, and I take my shoes off before following you. I freeze as soon as I get past the sheet. You're lounging seductively across a number of pillows, completely naked. My eyes rake over you and my entire body starts to feel warm. You take a strawberry and drag it along your collarbone, and the heat from your skin causes the chocolate to melt, leaving a streak behind.

"Well, Elsa?" you say in a suddenly husky voice. "Don't you want a taste?"

I take it all back. The pillow fort was an amazing idea.


	7. Chapter 7

**Day 7: I Love You (Anna's PoV.)**

I'm just chilling on the couch and waiting for you to get home when my phone rings. The screen lights up with the name 'Gerda Anders,' but I can't come up with a reason that your aunt would be calling me. I answer the call and say, "Hi Gerda. What's up?"

"It's Elsa," Gerda replies simply. "She's been in an accident."

My phone slips from my now limp fingers and falls to the couch. I can hear Gerda continue talking, but her earlier words keep repeating in my head. You. An accident. Suddenly, the apartment is too small and I can't breathe. I need to get out. I need to find you. I grab my phone off of the couch "Where is she?" I ask.

Gerda sputters for a moment, having been in the middle of something about a red light. "They took her to the hospital," she says eventually.

"Which one?" I demand. A small part of me winces at my tone. I should apologize for being so brusque, but I can't bring myself to right now. My sole focus right now is getting to you. I tell myself I'll apologize later, once I know you're okay. Gerda tells me the address and I put it into my phone for directions. I end the call without so much as a goodbye and throw on the first pair of shoes I can find. I'll really need to call her back to apologize later. Grabbing my keys, I sprint out the door, not even bothering to lock it behind me. I make it out of the building and silently thank anyone who wants to listen that I managed to get a close parking spot for once.

I jump into my car and slam the door shut, but my hands are shaking too much to get my key into the ignition. I try to force myself to calm down, but I can't get a horrible image of you out of my head. I can see your body lying broken and bloody in the middle of the road. It's nearly enough to make me vomit. After missing the ignition slot for the fourth time, I grip the steering wheel and close my eyes. Despite the image of you lying in the road still lingering behind my eyelids, I take two slow, deep breaths. When I open my eyes again, I finally manage to get the key into the ignition and start my car. I tear across the parking lot like a bat out of Hell, and I can only pray that I won't come across any police on the way to the hospital. As I race through the streets, my horrible thoughts fade away… all except one. One thought fills me with regret.

I never told you that I love you.

I do, of course. I love you more than anything, more than I thought it was possible to love another person, I but I never said those three little words. I know I should have. I wanted to tell you every day, but I was scared. Despite the urgency of the situation, I can't help but think back to when you first said that you loved me.

* * *

" _I love you."_

 _Your words seem to suck all of the air out of the room, and suddenly I can't breathe. You're looking at me with a mix of hope and apprehension, but I can only flounder like a fish out of water. I try to answer, but all that comes out is a strangled squeak. The color drains from your face, leaving it a deathly pale white. You frantically wave your hands, as if trying to bat the words out of the air. "I-I'm sorry," you stutter, "Just forget I said—"_

" _No, no!" I cut you off after finally finding my voice. "That's… that's amazing. Thank you." I cringe at my own words, and the way your face falls makes me feel even worse. "I'm sorry," I continue lamely, "I know that 'thank you' isn't exactly the response you want to… that." I can't bring myself to say the words, even if it's quoting you. "I just… I was burned by saying it too soon. It's… hard."_

" _What happened?" you ask. Immediately, you try to backtrack, saying, "I'm sorry. You don't have to tell me. Forget I asked."_

" _No, it's okay," I respond. "It sucked, but I got over it. Besides, I've got someone way better now." I lace my fingers through yours, causing your face to turn a deep crimson. I take a breath and get ready to dig into some old wounds._

" _His name was Hans Westergard," I begin. Venom drips from his name when I say it, but I commend myself on not dropping an F-bomb in the middle. Even though I claim to have gotten over him, it's still a sore subject. "We dated for a while in high school. He was tall, handsome, and crazy smooth. He seemed like he would be the president of the Model UN or something with how well dressed and eloquent he was. I told him that I… loved him after a couple of weeks. He said that he didn't feel the same way yet, and I was okay with that. I was so sure that I loved him, so I was willing to wait."_

" _But then," I pause. This part never gets any easier. "I came by his apartment to surprise him one day. The door was unlocked, so I let myself in and…" Tears sting at the corners of my eyes, but I keep going. "and I found his face buried between the thighs of the head cheerleader."_

 _You gasp, then immediately pull me into a bone crushing. "I'm so sorry," you murmur. I'm taken aback for a moment; I hadn't expected such a… strong reaction._

" _It's okay, really," I reply. I slip my arms around your waist and return the hug. After a few moments, we finally pull away from one another. When our eyes meet, your gaze is soft and full of love._

" _I love you," you say, almost reverently, "so much." I shift a bit and open my mouth to say something, but you cut me off. "Don't feel like you need to say it back, Anna. I know that you care about me, and that's enough." You smile warmly, and my cheeks feel so hot I'm surprised they don't catch fire._

* * *

I slam on the brakes to avoid speeding through a red light. My car skids to a stop just shy of entering the intersection, and I use a sleeve to wipe away the tears threatening to stream down my face. My free foot is rapidly bouncing while I try to force the light to turn green. When it finally does, I floor the accelerator and resume my race through the streets.

I try not to dwell on the aftermath of you dropping the 'I love you' bomb. You didn't say it often, and I could tell that you wanted to say it more but were holding back so that I wouldn't feel pressured. I never did feel pressured to say it. Hell, I _wanted_ to say it. I wanted to tell you that I loved you every day, but I was scared. At first, I was scared because of what happened with Hans, regardless of how ridiculous it was to compare you to him.

My fear quickly changed, and I was afraid of just _how much_ I loved you. It was like before we started dating all over again. You were all I could think about. I dreamt about you before we started living together. When you eventually did ask me to move in, I didn't even need to think about it. Living with you just seemed so… right. I even caught myself looking at engagement rings leading up to our anniversary. I was madly, dangerously, in love with you, but I was afraid to tell you.

My car skids around a corner and the hospital comes into view. I have to restrain myself from flooring the accelerator again, but I still blaze along at a solid fifteen miles over the speed limit. I weave between cars as the hospital looms closer and closer. Several people honk at me as i make a right turn from the left lane, but I don't care. I don't bother looking for a parking spot and just park next to the front doors, leaving my hazard lights on in the universal symbol for 'this is an emergency and I'll come back in a minute to move my car.' I sprint through the lobby, narrowly avoiding two wheelchairs and an old woman with a walker.

"I'm looking for Elsa Anders," I say after crashing into the front desk. The woman seated on the other side stares at me in shock for a few moments, then blinks and starts typing on her computer.

"Name?" she asks and I can only blink in confusion. I just told her your name. After a beat of silence, she tries again. " _Your_ name, ma'am? I need it for the Visitors Log."

"Oh, right," I reply, mentally smacking myself on the forehead. "Anna Eriksson."

"Ah, Miss Eriksson," the woman says, her mouth twitching up into a smile. "Miss Anders made sure we knew you'd be coming. Normally we would restrict visitors to just family so soon after admittance, but she was rather… insistent that you be allowed in." She enters a few more things into her computer. "She's in room 404," she says, pointing down a hallway to the left. "Take the elevator down that hall up to the fourth floor and follow the room directions on the wall."

I take off toward the hallway, belatedly yelling back a quick 'thank you' before rounding a corner. Luckily, someone is just getting off of the elevator when I reach it and I'm able to hop on. I jam the '4' button over and over until the doors close. I nervously bounce on the balls of my feet as the elevator slowly. I groan as the floor number finally shifts from '1' to '2'. This has to be the slowest elevator in the world.

After an eternity, the elevator finally reaches the fourth floor, and I squeeze between the doors as they open. I race over to the plaque on the wall and try to find '404'. An arrow pointing to the right reads '401-414', so I sprint down the hallway in that direction. Numbers fly by until I nearly reach the end of the hall. I come to a stop at room 405, but the next one is 403. There is no room 404. I look back and forth between the doors to 403 and 405. "Where's 404?" I wonder aloud.

"Anna?"

I whirl around at the sound of your voice and am standing directly in front of a door with '404' written on it. I bound through the door and finally see you laying in the bed inside. I'm so relieved to see you that it takes me a few seconds to notice that one of your legs is suspended above the bed and wrapped in a cast. "Oh my God," I cry, "what happened to your leg?"

"It's nice to see you, too," you mutter dryly. I start to offer a stuttering apology, but you wave it away, giggling. "It's fine, Anna." You beckon me closer, and I suddenly realize that I'm still frozen in the doorway. I cross the room and gingerly sit next to you. "Anyway," you say, "I was driving home from school and some guy on his phone ran a red light. He slammed into the side of my car, and the collision broke my tibia and fibula. The doctor said I'll need to wear the cast for six to eight weeks, and no walking for at least two weeks."

"Are you okay?" I ask before immediately wanting to slap myself. "I mean of course you're not okay, you've got a broken leg. But other than—" I pause for a moment when I finally notice a white bandage running along your forehead and another across your cheek. I lean in close to peer at them, as if I could see anything through the bandage, but it's difficult because you're shaking with poorly suppressed laughter.

"I'm fine," you say between giggles. You gently nudge me back so that you have a little more room, and I flop back down on the bed. "I got some cuts from the window breaking during the collision, but the doctor said they shouldn't scar over." You shift a bit, and a grimace flashes across your face. "I'm sure I'll get some nice bruises out of it, too."

I let out a big sigh and lean forward again, pulling you into a hug. "I'm just glad you're okay… well, mostly," I say. Once we separate, my eyes flash to the cast. "Does your leg hurt?"

"A little," you reply, shrugging. "But they're giving me some really nice pain medication for it." You lay your hand on mine and say, "I'm sorry you were worried about me. I told Aunt Gerda to let you know I wasn't seriously hurt." You sigh and look to the bedside table. Your phone is laying on it. The screen is completely shattered and about a third of the glass is missing. "Sadly, the same can't be said for my phone."

"Ouch," I say. I flip my hand over so that I can hold yours. I rub my thumb in small circles on the back of your hand, and you smile at me. All of the thoughts that raced through my head during the drive to the hospital come flooding back. I lift your hand up and kiss the back of it.

"I love you," you say softly.

"I love you, too."


End file.
